


The Other's Touch

by DarkestDarkness



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestDarkness/pseuds/DarkestDarkness
Summary: The doors to his chambers had just fallen shut before his heavy form crashed into the armchair across the room, hands trembling and movements imprecise.
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Reader, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 5
Kudos: 136





	The Other's Touch

The uncomfortable sensation of his armrest digging into his exposed ribcage was but a fading echo within the reaches of his consciousness; A blur of impressions disconnected from the present. Zenos' armor lay discarded, a trail of metal and cloth leading up to where he had flung himself into the nearest armchair. Following the lines of swelling red which his dull nails had left on his torso, his fingers flattened into a plane just below his navel and dug below the fabric of his undone pants.

He didn't bother masking the moan as his rough hand closed around his cock and gave it a jerk, his grip not as harsh as he desired, but just as hard as he imagined _you would grab him_. Zenos bit his lips viciously, eyebrows furrowed as he gave into the pumps of his hand. His teeth tore away from his bottom lip with another moan, his spine rigid and core tense as he pressed himself further against his hand – against _your hand_.

He sank into the armchair even further, legs spread wide and muscles rigid. The biting sting of bruises he had learned to ignore surfaced within reach of his attention once again, yet the rhythm of his hand only slowed when he regained a hold on himself.

 _You wouldn't let him off so simple_.

No, for all the dances you had shared, all the scorching gazes and heated clashes of steel and flesh, there was no doubt left in his mind that you would take your time; make any encounter sweetest agony.

Taking a deep breath, he released his grip, resting his fingers on his thighs, the warmth of his hands sinking through the fabric of his trousers as his breathing slowed.

The size of your palm paled compared to that of his, but it did little to stop him from imagining that it was your fingers tentatively dragging up his leg and over the valleys and mountains of his muscles.

His eyes closed as he imagined the look in your own: Ferocious and half-lidded, your tongue leaving behind a glistering film of saliva on your swollen lips. Vividly, he painted the image of your hands on his cheek and your thumbs lacing his jawline, the warmth both comforting and smothering.

He felt the warmth of your breath as you leaned in, smelled your presence, and lost himself in your taste – until his hand dug into his scalp and yanked himself back hard against the cushioned backrest of his chair. His free hand grabbed his packaged firmly, the sound which followed a hymn to lust itself.

 _Ah, what he would give for you to hear him right now. The things he would_ do to you.

With his breath heavy and chest heaving, he lifted his hips to pull his pants past his knees and down his ankles. Only now did he allow himself to wrap his digits around his cock again, faintly perceiving his pulse against the broad of his palm. Slowly, he set the pace again, squeezing at the bottom and taking moments to play with his foreskin before descend to his balls, kneading them between rough fingertips and massaging the skin.

Would you enjoy the sound of his voice breaking into discordance at the mercy of your touch? Would you tell him to moan louder for you? Or would you tell him to shut up and be quiet with a firm jerk of your hands and a spike in pace?

Distantly, Zenos noticed himself groan at the thought.

And what would you sound like when it was finally his turn to sink his hands down your pants and between your legs?

Zenos wasn't certain if he held the level of composure you possessed – to play with you for as long as you did with him. He wanted to hear it all: your muffled moans and ecstatic groans, your strained breathing and involuntary gasps, your broken commands to go deeper, faster, _harder, to grab you viciously and fill you with his seed--_

For the second time that night his motions stilled, grip harsh, his cock twitching against his palm. What followed was an agonized moan, his voice fading into loose threads by the end of it, untangling right before him. He was tense, shaking, filled with the deepest primal urge to continue – to give in and send himself over the edge.

And yet he kept still.

_Oh no, not yet._

He could could hear your admonition inside his head, voice low and sharp as a blade. His flesh felt raw, his mind begging to fall apart.

Yet, instead of giving himself the release he so desired, his hand took an agonizingly slow journey up his chest and collar bones, firmly wrapping around his own throat while the other dragged across his chest, fingers savagely pressing into his skin. The guttural moan which followed reached his ears only muffled, the pressure of his hold against his neck strong enough to break his voice.

What a cruel companion you had turned out to be, denying him his release both physical and vocal. His body trembled, muscles aching; hot and rigid and tense against the fabric. His hand was shaking, his hips bucking into it as he finally allowed himself to feel his touch again. Only when he felt the edges of his vision blur did he release the hold on himself, the gasp which followed brittle and desperate. He gave himself no more than a second or two before constricting again, silencing his wanton moans another time.

The thought of your body covered in a thin sheet of sweat left him a choking mess, coherent words lost. His pace was merciless, movements erratic, devoid of rhythm save for matching the fire dancing in your eyes. Zenos faintly registered himself begging for release, using every precious last onze of air to howl your name as his world faltered before him, crumbling down upon itself and crashing into nothingness.

His whole body sang and screamed in agony. _Blissful agony._

When the fog wrapped around his senses had cleared, he found himself on the floor, armchair towering above him and beaten muscles shivering in the creeping cold of his chambers.

He dragged his fingers up his chest, passively noting the thick ribbons of his cum painting his bare skin. Zenos looked at the scene before him, the mess he presented spread out on the floor, and found that he could not bring himself to rise to his feet. The viscous liquid still felt warm as he spread it over his fingertips with an absent-minded swipe of his thumb.

_Oh, he would have you._

He pressed his head back against the flor and let out a deep breath, enjoying the subtle burn and distant ache of his limbs.

_It was but a matter of time._

**Author's Note:**

> And now imagine walking in on that: Splayed across the floor, hair spread out around him, pants still around his ankles, and your name on his lips ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
